What Doesn't Thaw

The freezer is full again. I'm wrapping

the week's portions when I see it—

the package I forgot. Still sealed. Foil intact.

The date underneath is just a smear now.

I hold it. The cold burns my palm.

Whatever was inside has been here

through the whole season. It's not coming back

the way it was meant to.

I don't open it. I just put it back.

Behind the vegetables I use. Behind the ice.

Behind the thing I'm pretending I don't know.

And I seal my fresh food the same way.

Pressing the foil tight. Making it last.

The old package still there. The new one sealed.

I close the door and the cold seals again.

Both of them waiting. Both preserved.